


Domestic Battles

by lost_spook



Category: Press Gang
Genre: F/M, Obscure & British
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t do domestic, or they don’t do it like everyone else, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Battles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Lynda/Spike - their version of 'domestic' isn't exactly like most, for penny_lane_42 in the Obscure & British commentfest.

They don’t do domestic, or they don’t do it like everyone else, anyway. Well, unless everyone else in the country treats housework like it’s an Olympic event with the loser to be eliminated in the latest strenuous hoovering heat.

Spike has the advantage of practise, and he’s pretty damn fine at the washing up, if he says so himself (and he does, because, let’s face it, who else is going to?) but Lynda’s so sharp with the drying she’d finish before he did if it was humanly possible. He thinks someday she’s probably going to manage it, even if it means bending time and space in the process.

Lynda’s best event, though, is the race to leave in the morning. Some days she’s so good at it, she doesn’t even come home at night. She was going for a personal best last Tuesday, and he’s still getting glares for slowing her up by occupying the bathroom for longer than his allotted seven minutes. (Hey, can he help it if he’s so good-looking it’s hard to tear himself away from the mirror?)

“Fifteen minutes,” she’s still saying on Friday. 

“Was it really? Must be true what they say – time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I timed you.”

“Did you keep notes?”

Lynda gives him a look. “Fifteen minutes and forty-three seconds. What were you _doing_ in there?”

“Keeping out of the way of crazy people who stand outside the bathroom door, timing other people.”

Spike usually wins with the cooking, of course, though this week hasn’t been his best, which is putting it mildly. It would have been great, brilliant even – if he’d remembered that he’d bought the deep fat fryer off Colin to get him to go away a while back. Still, the fire was pretty, the neighbours were entertained, and it’d been a slow news week anyhow, so Lynda was glad of the story.

And, as he says now, if he’d thought to get some sausages, they could have had a barbecue and no harm done.

Laundry is Lynda’s event. Well, if you can call it that. Spike thinks of it more as an interrogation with the incriminating evidence laid out in front of him. Any unreasonably stained garments get hung up in the hallway and he’s asked to justify each spot.

“Well?” Lynda says. “How exactly did that mustard get there? Missed your mouth? Or you just decided to throw your dinner at yourself?”

“No, Lynda, that was you. _You_ threw my dinner at me.”

Lynda grins suddenly; that wicked grin of hers. “Oh, yes. So I did. I’m sure you deserved it, though.”

“Maybe,” says Spike, edging into a grin in return. “Maybe not.”

Spike now, he’s thinking of seeing if he can get into the national team for Exiting By Windows. He’s getting good at it. He might even go find a few ladders to put around the place. Well, probably not – it might encourage burglars, or something worse, like Colin. 

Lynda tends to go for the doors. Some of her best door-slamming has been heard three streets over, or so the legend goes. Spike believes it. He’s still half deaf and got a bruised finger to prove how enthusiastic she can be.

But there are always the joint events and some of those they’re pretty good at – always have been. And not just the arguing. Other things, stuff they’re even better at. Even if Lynda maintains that his technique could do with some work and he’s not convinced the injury rate should be this high. Still, it’s like everything, right – you’ve got to keep trying. And that’s a thought that makes him grin again.

“You’ve got a very suspicious look on your face,” says Lynda, walking past. “Something I should know about, Thomson?”

“Definitely,” Spike says, and explains to the best of his ability.

Lynda reckons after that it’s about a seven out of ten and they should probably try again. But only after the next edition is out, of course. It’s not as if they’ve even got a decent lead story yet. But certainly after, she promises, and kisses him.


End file.
